Definition Of A Friend
by mxmsupporter
Summary: When your whole life has a meaning thanks to only one person, can it be called 'friendship? Or is it a bad term to describe this 'thing' between us?


**A/N:** Inspired by having a twin sister, haha. CHEESY-NESS ALERT AHEAD!

**Suggested listening:** Breaking Benjamin - Wish I May (more about the atmosphere, but some lyrics pass too)

* * *

**Definition Of A Friend**

Me and Mello. Matt and Mello. Mello and his loyal dog. That's what others would call us usually. True, I always followed him around, at least in Wammy's House. But you have to remember that in this situation he was the one following me too. You know what, I have some pride too. I wasn't on his every order and whim. Not when there was a boss to beat at least. People called us 'friends'. That's such a vague term. Such a bad one to describe our relationship. I don't think we were friends even for a moment of our lives. Why?

Friends are supposed to care for each other.

When we were first introduced to ourselves, we stood in our shared room awkwardly for a moment, eyeing ourselves up and down. I didn't take him for a girl despite his girly features. There was something in him that told me to shut up about his looks or I'd end up in the infirmary soon. He had the vibe that told everyone not to fuck with him. Mello placed a loose strand of his hair behind his ear and looked me straight in the eye with these icy-blues of his. "Looks like we're sentenced to each other, huh?" he started casually, ignoring my introvert appearance. I mumbled something incoherent and he rolled his eyes, moving past me and exiting the room. "Come on, we're gonna miss the dinner!" he shouted after me and my brain decided to follow.

This was the first evening we have beaten each other to a pulp. I obviously didn't care if I hurt him and he didn't care if my hair were going to regenerate. All that mattered was our words and our opinions. He wouldn't leave his beliefs and I wouldn't stop acting all cocky like I knew him for more than one day. But when we came back to our room, bandaged-up and wiping the blood off our lips, he started laughing. I stared at him, suspecting another blow directed at me. "You're quite something, you know, Matt?" I couldn't help but grin at him. We went to sleep in peace.

Friends are supposed to listen to the other's problems and comfort them.

When he came to me at the day of the rankings, muttering under his breath yet another curse directed at Near, I paused my game and looked at him. "Stop grumbling, will you?" He went silent, eyes widening at my insolence. In the next moment I was getting really intimate with a wall, my shirt tasting the power of his clenched fingers. "What did you say, fucker?" he hissed, glaring at me. I blinked lazily, showing him absolutely no fear. It was just one of many moments of violence between us. "I said that you should stop grumbling. It's no use talking about your problems instead of trying to solve them." He stared at me for a moment and let go, muttering curses about me and leaving the room. I returned to my game stoically. Maybe he didn't know it but I knew that a metaphorical punch in the face once in a while kept him sane. I knew that he wouldn't be angry in the evening.

Friends usually have similar interests.

There were countless times when he tried to drag me outside and force me to play football. It's not like I couldn't play it, I just didn't like the feeling of sweating all over for something that didn't even involve using brain and the feeling of satisfaction. What's the point in being happy about winning when you're not the one to score? My games, on the other hand, bored him and he always made nasty comments about them. I couldn't understand his sweet tooth and he scowled at me when I was coming back to our room after smoking. We learnt to not cross each other's paths when it came to that aspect of life.

Friends are supposed to always be near each other.

Well, Mello obviously wasn't the one to keep this promise. He left the House a few weeks before his fifteenth birthday. I understood the reasons behind this, I understood why he did that. But that didn't help the thorn that grew in my heart that day. He didn't leave me a note of any kind, he didn't tell me not to follow him. He gave me the right to choose. And I chose fighting for him. I chose fighting for all these moments together, kissing our lips bruised by fists moments before. I chose fighting for all the nights spent together under the blankets, ending on an argument that made me sleep in one of the spare rooms for a few days. I wasn't going to let him go that easily.

Friends don't have secrets in front of each other.

I never got to know any detail about his past and vice versa. All we knew were our personalities developed at Wammy's House. He thought about things he never shared with me and I never told him about my wet dreams with him in a leading role. I never learnt where did he get all the chocolate from and he never learnt about the reason why I always had my goggles with me. All our actions were covered by a thin layer of enigma that couldn't be solved without our free will. That changed a bit after he came seeking my help in the Kira case when we were nineteen. I demanded he told me about the scar and we spent long hours getting to know each other. Ironically, after knowing each other for almost fourteen years.

Friends are 'friends' and nothing more.

That is a serious understatement when it comes to us. I don't think that any other human would turn me on so much as Mello walking around the filthy flat we shared draped only in a towel on his abdomen. I don't think that he thinks it's inappropriate when I kiss him fiercely, pinning him to the kitchen counter and tearing his pants off. He took making me come as quickly as possible for his little challenge, and I try to slow things down just to tease him every time. I love the hazed look he gives me when I lean above him, whispering kinky things in his ear. And I always thought that kissing him is the mind-blowing experience that I could even quit smoking for. Fortunately, he doesn't mind that nowadays.

There exists only one aspect of so-called 'friendship' that is accurate when describing our relationship. Trust. Sharing the same fate and going down the same path. Fighting arm in arm for something that could kill us. It will kill us, I'm sure. He knows it as well as I do, but when I look at him now, sprawled on the couch next to me, I know we're not afraid. He smirks at me, questioning gaze in his eyes answered by a gentle shook of my head. He nods slowly, licking at the chocolate bar he's holding. And suddenly, I find the best words to describe our wicked way of existing. We are partners in crime.

And the crime is called "living".

* * *

**By MxMSupporter, 02.08.13**


End file.
